That face was so real, so expected and yet so exquisite that it rendered her ridiculously speechless. The voice echoed and brought life to the dead of the night’s darkness. The vision smiled, and she almost reached out to shatter it. The beautifully surreal image floated against inky black and she couldn’t help but stare. She wanted to whisper poetry and sing ballads, write notes in beautiful calligraphy, be gorgeous in black silk and be adorned in amethysts. She wanted to evoke Aphrodite… She needed a spell, a trick, and maybe a bottle of ambrosia! She would bring him to life and keep him all to herself.
She needed Perfect Magic and Greek Mythology and…
…a cup of tea to give her enough courage to get out of the razai and into reality.
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Written on the 29th of May 2001! I have grown up! Ha ha.
The trees bowed to her as she looked up towards the crazy skies. She laughed at the lightening, the storm, the insanity. It was all her idea, wasn’t it? People ran for shelter while she stood amidst the raging storm, the turmoil of emotions within her?
Her long dark hair
Open and wild, tangled.
Her eyes – ablaze with energy. Her lips set in an ironic smile. Merging into the darkness she looked beautiful. A part of the wild, stormy and passionate night. Next came the rain, splashing her face with cold icy water. She spread her arms out and welcomed it. Her tears vs raindrops. Her pain not evident because of her laughter. The slashed wrists. Scarlet drops vanished into the black attire, into the dark soil. Her blood flowed effortlessly. The fire in her eyes died slowly.
Her hands fell limply to her sides. Her head bowed, she collapsed and fell on her knees. Her flaming eyes shut. Her tangled hair wet. She slept with a smile on her pale face.
The storm passed. It was calm and silent. Again.
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And why on earth are you here? She rolled her R-s emphatically.
I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you… the cliche delivered flawlessly accompanied by a gorgeous lopsided smile and a wink. Death was never so sweet.
Weak-kneed. She pretended not to notice, thank god she was perched lovingly on to the bar stool. She rolled her eyes, flipped her recently-styled hair over her shoulder and locked eyes with him to deliver a steely gaze. Failed miserably, she thought and chewed on her bottom lip.
He was stumped. Only for a second though. He bought himself time by lighting a cigarette. She wrinkled her pretty little nose. And asked him the million dollar question, again.
And why on earth are you here? This time she sang it like “Goooodd-Morn-ing Maaaammm” and he scoffed. He covered it up with a fake cough, and ordered a drink. In a very un-007 way, he asked for a Dry Martini, Stirred not Shaken. She rolled her eyes for the nth time and he wished they would just fall out of her stupid albeit pretty little head.
She sipped daintily on her ridiculously expensive Apple-tini and smiled at the warmth trickling down her throat. She self consciously touched her neck and hastily removed her hand, she did NOT want him to think she was drawing his attention towards her neck. Ewww. She thought. She tilted her head and studied him, he needed to shave and to comb his hair back, and he definitely needed a new cologne, she mused. Then he would be perfect, perfect to be her project. She studied her french-manicured nails and said, so isn’t she in town?
He choked on the first sip, whether it was the question, the ’she’, or the horrible drink, we’ll never know. He steadied himself and smiled again, the practiced lopsided grin or some such. He pretended he didn’t understand and she skillfully changed the topic. This time she touched him, a la Rachel style, and she laughed and giggled. She clapped her hands in glee and threw her head back, she knew she looked good when she did that. He knew she looked good when she did that.
He offered to pay for her drinks and to drop her home. She told him she was a big girl now and could handle herself. He expressed concern over the one too many drinks she had consumed. She pouted and said, my friend’s house is walking distance.
The Bartender smirked at the exchange and swiped the Visa.
He listened to her banter, hoping fervently for a good-night-kiss. He carried the silver sequined bag and then the silver sequined heels. He opened the door for her and forced himself not to think of the bill he had just paid for. She pouted again and announced she was sleepy.
He got just that, a good-night-kiss. She gave him a missed-call (he didn’t have her new number) and climbed the stairs. He kicked a couple of stones, walked around the crazy DDA colony where everything looked the same and finally reached the parking lot. He laughed when he saw he still had the silver heels around her neck.
Well, a reason, at least.
He shrugged his shoulders, got into his car. Shook his head and thought Bitch!
And right then she tucked herself in, and said, Bastard. (Aiming for a little chorus situation here!)
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Pour some JD and coke down his throat
Let her play with the straw, perhaps the stirrer
What do you think she’d prefer?
The Zippo fluid makes her light a cigarette
The candlelight flickers on her gorgeous face
She laughs at his obvious lack of grace
He exhales, she inhales
Smoke rings were never her forte
Why not try the waterfall?
Smoker’s etiquette: she lights his cigarette before her own
Was chivalry dead?
The lady was served first? Wasn’t she…?
He smiled at the thought bubble floating above their heads
She flicked the Dunhill carefully… Poetry in motion
A raised eyebrow, a shrug of the shoulders
The incessant chatter?
Wine?
On the house?
No, Thank you.
And they dined.
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A half smile playing on her lips
Dry kajal lined eyes staring back at her
Pursing her lips ensured even application of the lip gloss
Angry strokes taming her wild hair
One last look, the usual earrings
A pirouette checking the oh so formal clothing
The jhola replaced by a black leather handbag
The mirror refused to crack.
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